The Shot Heard 'Round The World
by TheDawnCatcher
Summary: The battle of Lexington, the first conflict in the American Revolution. Inspired by the song: Mama, Look Sharp.


**_The Shot Heard 'Round the World_**

_The battle of Lexington, the first conflict in the American Revolution. Inspired by the song: Mama, Look Sharp._

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"The British are coming! The British are coming!" Was a cry piercing the warm spring night as Paul Revere and Billy Dawes raced to Lexington. "The British are coming, sound the alarm! Minutemen, to arms!" It was a call heard in all the towns and villages between Boston and Concord, and gathered a hundred and thirty men in Lexington. Many left. At four thirty before dawn the drums were sounded, and seventy men readied for battle.

Alfred stood to the side, loading his musket, as two mothers kissed their boys for luck. "Aw, ma, stop it!" One protested, pushing her hands away with a scowl while his two friends snickered behind him. "You're embarrasin' me!" His look softened, though, seeing the tears in her eyes, and once his friends headed to the front lines he put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, mama. Look sharp," was all he said. A smile passed between them, and he headed off for the lines.

Alfred found himself standing with that same boy on the town's green, watching six companies of Lobster light infantry came over the horizon. The boy was shaking, his gun hand twitchy. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

The boy started, giving Al a surprised look. "B-Billy. Billy Knowlls. Who's askin'?"

Al grinned. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" Billy just stared at him a moment, before looking back at the coming troops, lips pressed in a hard line. "Say, Billy, what'cha gonna do when this is all over?" Billy raised a brow at him. "When we win this here scuffle. What'cha gonna do?"

Billy boy thought on it a moment. "I'm gonna take ma an' sis down to the ol' maple tree. Sal's always liked it, 'cause it stays autumn-red, even in summer-time."

"Don't forget it." Al smiled down at the boy, who didn't seem to see what he was getting at. "When the shooting starts, keep thinkin' about your ma, and sis, and that ol' maple tree, and don't forget to take 'em there when it's all over. Understand me, Billy Knowlls?" The boy nodded, wide-eyed, just as Captain Parker called for the militia to disperse. The English had made a move to surround them.

The two forces stared each other down, six English companies to forty minutemen on the green. Another thirty men were scattered about town, in case the front-lines failed. Major Pitcairn had been ordered to peacefully take possession of the Concord bridges, but he could not just leave the militia unmolested. Captain Parker was just satisfied his men had put on a show, and didn't want his small force in a skirmish with fully armed Regulars. No one could say who fired the first shot, but there were plenty of young boys like Billy Knowlls, their trigger-fingers trembling. Some say the first shot came from behind a near stone wall, striking a soldier. The British returned fire.

"Stop! I order you to cease fire!" Pitcaim commanded his troops, to no avail.

The minutemen scattered, two laying dead on the green. "To arms!" Was the call, "Stand and fight!" Alfred cursed ash his people hid. There was no winning at this rate! His mind raced, and suddenly, without thought, he turned about and returned fire. His men followed suit, some in the open, most hidden behind whatever cover they could find.

Chaos reigned. Men deserted. The damnable lobster red-coats had broken their ranks, and were about to start breaking into houses when a highly irritable voice rang out, "_**Oi!**_ What the _**bloody blazes**_ do you think you're doing?" Alfred watched from his place behind some staked boxes as Arthur rode up on his favorite white stallion, glaring down at his troops. "Your orders were to capture Concord, not ransack Lexington! Get back in line and start marching!" The infantry scrambled to obey. The Briton set his venomous glare on Major Pitcaim. "And **you**. I'll speak with **you **later."

The British returned to their ranks and continued their march to Concord. The women came out of their homes to find their loved ones and dress their wounds. Of all the men visible, seven were dead, a couple no older than fifteen, and yet there was still a voice that called out, "Billy! Billy Knowlls!" That boy. He hadn't been found yet? "Look sharp, Billy Knowlls, cause if you're just messin' with me you're gonna get such a whoopin' when you get home!" Mrs. Knowlls voice was strained, cracking once or twice.

Alfred pushed himself to his feet and ran over to her, taking up the call. It was only five minutes later, when he remembered what the boy had said about a red maple tree and told his mama, that they went looking south. It was there that they found him, in a meadow under an old red maple tree. He was on his back, eyes open and unseeing, staring into the sky. From the bullet wound in his chest and the trail of blood in the tall grass, it looked like he'd dragged himself here, off of the battle field. From the heat of his skin when Al touched his arm, he couldn't have been dead long.

Mrs. Knowlls' hand shook as she reached out to close his eyes, her shoulders heaving with a quiet sob.

Alfred turned away, his eyes burning, and left the mother to her grieving before he started too. Someone 'tisked' behind him. "Such a shame, really. Could have been avoided too, you know." Alfred whirled around to see Arthur leaned up against a tree, looking back at the bereaved mother with a smirk.

"You _bastard_," Alfred snarled, grabbing the shorter man by his blood-red uniform and slammed him against the tree. "_He was only a kid!_ This is _your_ fault! If you hadn't ju-"

"_**I **_didn't shoot first," the Briton said, cutting off his charge's tirade, giving him a stony glare. "A lot of our soldiers are kids. Most of them die. Get used to it." He wrenched the other bonds' hands off of his jacket and turned to leave, shooting these last words over his shoulder. "You should think about these things **before** deciding you want to be a nation, Yank."

Alfred watched him go, not noticing the wetness that ran down his face. "You'll pay for this, Brit…"

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**Sources cited:**

Don't Know Much about History by Kenneth C. Davis

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End file.
